Of Bros and Brunch
by Captain Peregrine
Summary: America and England become chummy. England is confused. The others... are amused. Mostly PG-13 because some of the countries know some pretty good swear words. UK/US
1. Chapter 1

England was concerned. America was acting strange. Well… stranger than usual. All through the current world meeting the younger country had been strangely subdued. It was obvious that he was upset about something, but usually this involved large amounts of loud, overly dramatic sighs that went on until someone finally grew irritated enough to ask what was wrong—if only to get him to spit it out so he would then shut up. Or shut up so far as America was apparently able.

Today, however, he was oddly quiet. The last time this had happened was the thirties… and that had sucked for everyone. Not to mention that the only known antidote for America's Depression had apparently been to get him involved in a bloody world war. So after the meeting England followed America out to the parking lot, catching him before he reached his annoyingly bumblebee-colored sports… thing.

"Hey, Britain." America looked up at the smaller country, seemingly unsurprised to see him standing across the car from him.

"Hello, America. Um… nice car." _If you were blind_. England tried not to frown at the window sticker he could see through the rear window, _No really. It's a Transformer._

"Thanks." America didn't seem to notice how not-impressed England was by his vehicle. He did, however, look a little confused when after the compliment—or whatever—England still stood awkwardly across from him. "Um… did you need something?"

In that brief moment England went from mildly concerned to full-out worried. He had been expecting America to wax un-eloquently about his stupidly fantastic faux-robotic car. Something was seriously wrong, then, if America didn't brag about his most current toy.

"Well… I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to have been acting… well, not quite yourself, lately. Is anything wrong?" _And _please_ don't let it be another bloody Dust Bowl…_

"Oh." America looked uncomfortable and his blue eyes seemed to flick towards every visible surface except England's face. He coughed. "Wrong? No… N-not really. Just—nothing."

England frowned. America, unwilling to bitch about his personal problems? Oh, God, he hoped it wasn't another Civil War. That was even worse than a Depression.

"America, what is it?" he asked, not bothering to keep the concern out of his voice. America looked up briefly and sighed heavily. England was thrown by the other's expression—he looked _sad_.

"It—it's stupid. This morning, when I woke up, I was super excited to see the new _Transformers_ movie tomorrow. But then I remembered I was s'posed to go with… uh, someone. But we just… you know…" America leaned across the car as far as he could and whispered dramatically, "Broke up." He grimaced, looking embarrassed. "And, I guess, it sorta bummed me out. Not as over it as I thought, I guess."

America shrugged and managed an awkward chuckle.

England blinked. Well, that answer was… unexpected.

"Broke up? With whom?"

America looked startled. But then he coughed again and rearranged his features into a more subdued expression. His emotions must have been running deeper than he wanted to admit if he was trying so hard to keep them buried.

"Um… I just broke up. With…" America looked embarrassed again. "Japan?"

And that answer was even more unexpected.

"Japan?" England repeated—not quite believing it. America nodded and attempted a casual smile.

"But, ya know, it was amicable. I guess. I guess I'm just bummed cuz I'd feel like a total dork if I went to go see the movie now. You know—by myself. Which sucks. Cuz I really wanted. To go. You know. With… uh… Japan."

America went back to looking sad and England grimaced. He couldn't stand that stupid kicked-puppy look, even if it was just because of missing a bloody pointless aliens-invade-America (again) movie. It always made England feel guilty—even when he had nothing to do with it. Looking back on it, that look had let America get away with a lot of shit as a child… Including a bloody Revolutionary War. America liked to think he had "won", but really England had decided that fighting to keep him as his little brother was rather useless when it would probably only get them both critically injured. And he really had had a lot of trouble saying "no" to that damned charming little colony… Stupid America.

"Well, I suppose… I could go with you. To keep you company. If you would like." England hoped giving America what he wanted—a movie buddy—wasn't going to go to his head. Again. But he also hoped it was enough to wipe that stupid look off his face and get him to stop moping around.

America looked surprised. He sniffed loudly. Oh, bloody hell, if he started to cry…

"Y-you mean, you'd be my movie-bro?"

England was entirely certain that America had made that phrase up and was unsure what exactly it meant, but, "Why not? After all, I have never seen a… _Transformers_ movie. It should be interesting—bloody hell, what is it?"

America looked like he had just had ice water splashed in his face. Or maybe like someone had squashed his hamburger—England remembered what that face looked like from first-hand experience. He still held to the fact that it had been an accident. Either way, he looked shocked enough to wet himself.

"You—you've never seen the _Transformers_ movies? But you _have_ to!" Suddenly America was grinning from ear to ear and he slapped the roof of his car. England couldn't help but wince, wondering if that was going to leave a dent or if this car was specially designed to resist America's… enthusiastic gestures. "I know! You'll come over tonight! We'll totally watch the first two movies. Pizza, beer—it'll be _sweet_! Say… eight? Perfect! Thanks, bro!"

Without another word, America ducked into his car. The engine roared to life at the turn of the key and England had to step back to keep his toes from being rolled over. He watched the car thunder away, no doubt with a bewildered look etched across his British face.

What… the bloody hell had just happened? And whose idea was it to make three movies about bloody space robots?

oOo

"Herro?"

"_Hey, dude, it's America!"_

Japan managed not to wince at the ridiculous volume coming at him from the opposite end of the phone line. Why was he always so loud?

"America." Japan hoped his greeting was noncommittal enough. The last thing he needed was the younger country talk-shouting at him for an hour about whatever he thought was "important" that day. Usually something to do with hamburgers or involving guns.

"_So, hey, Japan. I got a favor, dude."_

Now Japan did wince. English was supposed to be his native tongue, right? No wonder Britain was always so upset with him, butchering his own language in such a way.

"_If Britain asks, you and I were totally dating. Kay?"_

"Whrat?" Japan stared at the phone in appalled shock.

"_But we broke up."_ America charged along, seemingly ignorant of Japan's uncomfortable silence. _"It was amicable. Kay?"_

"No!" Japan glared at the phone. Perhaps the strength of his gaze could make it across the line and slap America in the face. He did not dare be so forceful himself… and he should have known America was too oblivious to get it even if he had physically assaulted the larger country. Except for that one time… but that had been bad timing, really. "I rill no—"

"_Otherwise I'm gonna have to tell everyone about the chibi-Russia underwear you have."_ America added nonchalantly.

"It ras amricable." Japan muttered before he hung up the phone as quickly as he dared.

America chuckled to himself as he hung up the now-dead line. World diplomat. Yup. Still got it.

oOoOoOo

Author's Note: I just had to point out—I actually really like the Transformers movies. I mean, space robots! It just seemed like something Britain would naturally hate.

Also, this story is based on an episode from season two's How I Met Your Mother. If you haven't' seen this show… you should. Cuz it's awesome. True story.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't know what he had expected, but an evening watching movies with America had turned out to be much more pleasant than England had originally feared. There was no moping over Japan—which he had dreaded—and there was no overly irritating side-commentary all through the two movies, either—which he had dreaded even more. In fact, the movies had turned out to be quiet entertaining and a lot of that had to do with America—though he would go Light Brigade again before he admitted that to anyone.

Both countries thought that Megan Fox's character was utterly inappropriate in a movie that should have been solely aimed at big robots blowing up bigger robots.

"Every time we see her face is a time we _could_ have been watching Bumblebee take down another Decepticon." America had informed England with a heavy roll of his eyes—a comment England was forced to agree with. The special effects weren't half bad, he had actually grown quite fond of the bloody robots and England had to admit that the movies did make America's military look badass. Not to mention that the pizza had been less greasy than he had feared, the beer had been a better brand of American alcohol than England had expected and the strong vodka America produced later in the evening added a wonderful addition to the drinking game they had created half-way through the movie.

It was later than either of them had realized by the time the movies wrapped up. England grimaced at the clock, not looking forward to having to hail a cab this late at night back to his hotel suite—a suite he had been forced to share with France, which just made annoying situations more aggravating. Stupid budget cuts.

"Dude, just crash here." America suggested as he plunked their glasses into the sink. "I've got an extra room and a few blankets."

"That… would make things easier." England agreed, standing carefully and holding himself as still as possible while he waited for the room to stop tipping and twirling around him. He got over the fact that there were two Americas several shots of vodka ago. "That way we could carpool to that movie. You could just drop me off at the hotel afterward."

America shrugged. For all his love of gas-guzzling vehicles, he had also become rather environmentally conscientious (also, he secretly loved using the carpool lane during rush hour traffic). And, like everyone else around the world, he did love saving money—though he could also spend it faster than just about any country England knew.

"Sure. Anyway, we can leave the rest of this shit for tomorrow. Unless Tony eats it first."

"Your pet alien?" England asked, glancing around the room with a half-hearted hope he might spy the little grey creature again.

"S'not an alien. Just Tony."

Even shit-faced, America stuck to his cover-ups.

oOo

By the end of the night, England began to wonder if maybe he had misjudged America. The night at the movies had been a true delight. They had annoyed just about everyone in the seats around them throughout the movie by laughing and "whispering" through most of the film. America was particularly vocal during the biggest fight-scenes (of which there were plenty). The new girl had been British—America enjoyed pointing that out to England as if it had been his bloody idea—and far less annoying than Megan Fox. They had both reacted with appropriate emotional intensity during the emotionally intense scenes and had reacted with equal vigor to the scenes that had no purpose except as an excuse for something unusually large to explode (of which there were also many).

After the movie, America had invited England out to dinner and brought him to the Outback Steakhouse—"I thought it would make you feel more at home!"—to which England rolled his eyes, but was still able to enjoy the deep-fried "Australian" food that Americans managed to happily shove down their throats. America had all but destroyed a bloomin' onion all on his own and, once again, the alcohol flowed a bit more freely than was probably necessary. This necessitated that they remain at the restaurant—to get the booze out of their system so it was safe enough for America to drive—for a few more hours and it was well after two in the morning before England finally made it back to his hotel room.

He should have known the bloody frog would be awake to ruin a perfectly decent evening. And, for some reason beyond what his exhausted brain could comprehend, Prussia was there, too.

Bloody wonderful.

"Did you enjoy your date, _Angleterre_?" France purred as he sipped at a glass of red wine. Prussia looked like he had melted into the upholstery and was holding a mug of beer just vertically enough to keep it from spilling all across the carpet. But he still managed to shoot England a leering grin—the only sort of grin the "country" seemed bloody capable of.

"I don't know what the bloody hell you are talking about, you wine-swilling horse masticator." Even Prussia looked impressed by England's insult. That didn't stop him from opening his mouth, however.

"With America." He said, slurring his words a bit. "We know you went to dinner and a _movie_ with him."

The way his eyebrows danced over his dark red eyes made England think that Prussia was suggesting that they had been doing something a bit more adult-situation than a dinner and a movie. England scoffed.

"You bloody wankers have been watching too many plotless pornos." He scowled at both of them. "It was merely an evening of two friends enjoying each other's company."

"Oh, _oui_?" France raised an eyebrow. "Did you enjoy each other's company in ze theater? _Mon Dieu_, were zere children?" France tsked. "'Ow delightfully crude of you, Britain."

"And how many pornos _have_ plots?" Prussia wondered out loud. He wrinkled his nose at England. "Or is that a _British_ thing?"

England ignored him and directed his annoyance, as per usual, at France.

"You stupid frog, can you not go one moment without thinking something that involves sex?" When France looked confused, England just sighed. "Look, America was just feeling a bit down after his break-up, so I went to a movie with him to keep him from locking himself in his damned house all bloody day. The last thing any of us wants is a Depressed America."

France shuddered dramatically.

"No. _Bien sûr que non._ That would be _terrible_."

"But… America took you to dinner?" Prussia raised an eyebrow. "Still sounds like a date to me. A date that should have ended with him in your pants."

"You are both wankers." England muttered to himself as he stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. When he heard Prussia and France chuckling in the sitting room, he was secretly relieved that he hadn't mentioned the invitation to brunch the next morning.

He couldn't seriously have passed it up, however. Who could pass up a meal that sounded like the secret love child born between breakfast and lunch and was so quintessentially American? Besides… America was paying.

oOo

France glanced at Prussia.

"Did Britain say _l'Amérique_ 'ad broken up?"

"Yeah. I didn't even know he was dating anyone…" Prussia frowned into his beer, then shrugged. "Still sounds like a ploy to get into that guy's pants. Always knew England was the girl…"

France chuckled and finished his wine.

"Do not let _Angleterre_ 'ear you say that, _mon ami_." He tugged at his hair and managed to look a bit worried. "Ze last time I said that to 'is face, it took three months to grow my 'air back. _Le mal calcaire…_"


	3. Chapter 3

England was interrupted in his preparations for morning by a text message. He snatched up the phone, reading the message while he arranged his tie appropriately with one hand. He assumed brunch was a slightly more formal affair and hoped the tie would add just enough of a nice touch to make America appreciative.

Then he would bitch less in the meeting.

_Ill pick u up 4 brunch. Meet u dwnstrs._

England sighed at America's bloody awful spelling—he despised texts for their ability to further butcher his language in a way even America had not managed until now—but smiled at America's thoughtfulness. Perhaps they could carpool again, this time to the meeting. It did make things so much less complicated where parking was involved. He would just have to remember to complain adequately enough about America's Bumblebee look-alike. He would shave his left eyebrow before he admitted that he was actually fond of the little yellow beast after seeing those movies.

No. He would shave both eyebrows.

Britain looked himself over once more in the mirror before stepping out into the sitting room. He closed his bedroom door behind him and—

"Bloody hell!" he snarled at France, who was sipping at his morning coffee and eyeing Britain's state of dress with an approving but suggestive gaze. "Do you have nowhere better you could be?"

He turned his glare to Prussia, who was sitting at the table reading the paper and dressed in a—Britain had to admit—rather snazzy suit and tie.

"And why are you bloody here?" he snapped.

"Ze meeting iz not for 'ours, _Angleterre_." France pointed out casually, raising a trim eyebrow. "While I may not 'ave anywhere "better" to be, apparently you do. Where are we off to so early in ze morning?"

"None of your bloody business, Frog." Britain growled. He glared at Prussia again. "And _why_ are you bloody _here_? And… I know I will regret asking this, but… why in all the bloody hells are you wearing a suit?"

Prussia glanced at him and set aside his paper—Britain wondered if he had even been reading it or if he was just using it as some sort of prop.

"I am wearing a suit, Britain, because a suit represents power. And chicks are into bros who exude power. I plan on sleeping with as many of those chicks as possible while I am here."

"Power." Britain looked at Prussia blankly. Then he shook his head and frowned. "Wait… are you sober? Is this you sober?"

"Britain, this is me being the Awesome Me. And the Awesome Me plans on getting laid. Hence, the suit. Damn it, bro, why do you think I wore my uniform all the time back in the good old days? That shit got the girls _hot._ If you know what I—"

"Yes, thank you for that image." Britain sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The meetings were being held for the rest of the week. He was stuck with both these idiots until then since Prussia was, apparently, not going anywhere. And if he tried to bring any of his "chicks" back to the suite…

"You 'ave not answered my question, _Bretagne_." France sipped daintily at his coffee. "And, I could point out you are also wearing a suit. _And_ a tie. Do you 'ave somesing special planned for zis morning?"

"If I have to say that it is none of your bloody business one more time, _France_, I will—"

"Ten euro says it's a date." Prussia said, "reading" his morning paper again. Britain seriously had his doubts…

France gasped happily. He set down his coffee so he could clap his approval.

"With _Amèrique_?" he asked, apparently delighted. "_Ce qui est merveilleux!_"

France turned to Prussia.

"Twenty euro that 'e denies it."

"Of course I am bloody well going to deny it!" Britain shouted. He didn't know if he was pissed at their idea that he was going on dates with America or that they didn't even care that he was still in the room.

"Where are you going, then?" Prussia asked, far too calmly. Britain decided he did not like this Prussia.

"Out." Britain growled through clenched teeth.

"With _Amèrique_?" France asked simply.

"Fine! Yes." Britain snarled.

"Is it brunch?" Prussia asked without looking up.

Britain's mouth fell open.

"Wh—how the bloody hell could you possibly know that?"

"What else would you be doing in a suit before two o'clock in the afternoon?" Prussia asked and Britain damned the man and his "power" suit. It was obviously focusing his observation abilities while giving him bloody stupid ideas at the same time.

France's eyes lit up.

"You are going to brunch with _Amèrique_?" he sounded like a school girl asking if her best friend had _really, for honest_ kissed the star football player. Britain narrowed his eyes and tugged at his suit, trying not to feel self-conscious about it.

"What if I am?" he stood a bit straighter. "Two gentlemen can enjoy a perfectly civil meal together."

"Brunch is for couples." Prussia pointed out calmly. Britain realized he was working his mouth like a suffocating fish. He snapped his jaw shut and _glared_ with all the intensity that had won him half the known world.

"Brunch is not just for couples and what the bloody fucking _hell_ could you possibly know about it?"

"Because I'm Awesome." Prussia looked at him in a way that suggested he pitied Britain for not being able to pick up on that sooner. "And chicks dig brunch."

"I thought they "dug" the suit?" Britain sneered.

"The two working in concert with one another is a lure no woman can resist. Or country." Prussia waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Britain had had enough of this nonsense.

"That is it. I am leaving now. I have a d—I have to meet America. For a perfectly casual meal. Because we are friends." Britain spoke as he marched across the room to the door. He paused when he pulled it open and rounded on the two still sitting calmly behind him. He aimed a finger at Prussia and _glared_ again, trying to ignore the fact that the former country seemed perfectly immune to it. "And when I come back you had better bloody well be gone!"

He slammed the door shut behind him.

oOo

"Do you think our dear _Amèrique_ is picking up _Angleterre_?" France asked, going back to his coffee. He chose a crescent to add to his breakfast. They may not have been French, but America did manage a fairly decent crescent.

"Sure." Prussia smirked. "It's the gentlemanly thing to do on a date."

"_Oui_." France agreed. "'E iz probably paying as well."

"And England's probably convinced himself that's the whole reason he's going." Prussia peered over his paper at France. The golden-haired country wasn't entirely sure Prussia was reading anything, either. He just liked his props. "Fifty euro says America manages to get into England's pants by the end of the week."

France raised an eyebrow.

"One 'undred euro says that _Angleterre_ thinks it was '_is_ idea."


	4. Chapter 4

"Dude, what took so long?" America asked when England pulled the car door open. The smaller country sighed as he dropped as gracefully as he could manage into the vehicle.

"Oh, bloody France and Prussia. They were being prats."

"Yeah?" America put his car into gear. "What about this time?"

England blushed.

"Oh." He forced an uncomfortable laugh and hoped that America—ignorant as he usually was to the mood—would fail to notice. "They seem to have the derisory idea that you and I are actually going to brunch as a… a date."

America snorted so forcefully that his glasses almost bounced off his nose.

"What? Seriously? Whatever. Two bros can totally have brunch together! Nothing weird about that!" America laughed loudly.

England relaxed, though he could still feel himself blushing.

"Right." He chuckled. "That is what I told them."

"I mean, we're here. We're hungry. Deal with it, brunch!" America made some sort of over-zealous motion with his hand that forced England to lean toward the passenger window to avoid being swatted across the face.

England raised an eyebrow.

"Um… Yes. Exactly."

They drove along in silence for a moment. It, of course, did not last long.

"Hey, Britain?"

"Hmm?"

"Doesn't derisory mean you've got the runs?"

oOo

"Bloody hell. Now I understand why you enjoy this so much!" England exclaimed over his meal, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. He popped a piece of perfectly ripe cantaloupe into his mouth. Wonderful. It had been one of England's own people who had first coined the term, but as with many other things America had made it uniquely his own. It gave England a strange sense of pride—even if no one realized where brunch had really come from anymore, which was irritating as all hell.

Though… to be fair, _he_ had forgotten. And America did have a way of coming at you with an idea so exuberantly you were entirely certain it had been his all along even though the words had come out of your mouth first not ten minutes earlier. However… England still couldn't deny that this was a marvelous brunch.

America grinned at him around a mouthful of Eggs Benedict. England grimaced inwardly. It was so nice to see that America's dining habits had not changed much…

"I know, right?" America swallowed and chuckled. "I mean, who doesn't love _brunch_?"

"I had no idea that your vision of brunch was so wonderfully put together." England complimented. What he refrained from adding was: _Usually when you steal things from other countries, it is a monstrous slap-dash affair that completely mangles the original intent. Look what you did to pizza._ Instead, England just smiled and cut himself another piece of fluffy Belgian waffle.

England's brain politely decided not to comment.

However, he couldn't quite get the tickle out of the back of his mind—a tickle no doubt placed there by his being stupid enough to listen to either France or Prussia when noises like words came out of their mouths.

England glanced up at America, who was looking very stylish in a blue button-up shirt that set off his eyes. But England always noticed things like that. He was certain of it. Just because he couldn't quite recall what color France's stupid robe had been this morning meant nothing.

He was pretty sure France had been wearing a robe. He had been clothed, at least. Of that he _was_ positive.

England frowned thoughtfully and paused, a piece of waffle halfway to his mouth.

"This is not strange, is it?" He was asking America as much as he was asking himself.

America looked up at him, his blue eyes wide, as if England had just read his mind. England was very clearly ignoring how very, _very_ blue America's eyes actually were…

"You know, I totally thought it would be, but it totally _isn't_." He slammed his fork-bearing fist onto the table top for emphasize. A few people looked at them in alarm, but America ignored them in that oblivious way only America could manage. "I mean, why can't two bros rock brunch, Sunday morning style?"

Not the way he would have put it, but England supposed it was eloquent coming from America.

England nodded, relieved. Of course it wasn't strange. Not that he had been worried that it _was_. He was just happy to quietly be proving France and Prussia wrong. Really, dating _America_? How absurd. The poor young country was obviously just lonely after his break-up with Japan (really, how had England _missed_ that?) and yearning to forget about it by going about his normal routine. Which, England had to admit, he hadn't realized included _brunch_. But America was odd, there was no denying that. So, of _course_ he would enjoy the European-born mutant meal.

America did like his mutants…

In any case, America had turned out to have been dreadfully upset over loosing brunch. Much more so do to the loss of his fellow diner, no doubt.

"I mean, you can't go to brunch _alone_." America had told him during their Outback dinner. He had had that wounded puppy look on his face again. "People look at you funny because they think you're a loser if you go to brunch alone. And, hello! I'm a _hero_. But who am I to upset the balance of Sunday mornings and Mother's Days? So… there goes brunch."

America had followed the mini-monologue with a hand motion that rather resembled a piece of paper floating out of a window and he had watched it go off with a sad look on his face. It had been terrible.

England hadn't quite understood what the hell America had been going on about at the time—alcohol had not helped any since America was difficult enough to understand when one was _sober_—but it was obvious that the idiot missed his hybrid meal and his version of it had sounded interesting, besides. America _did_, from time to time, have some halfway decent ideas and brunch was turning out to be one of them.

Besides, who was England to deny America a little social comfort? Obviously no one else was strong, tough or courageous enough to make the effort. Or perhaps they were all too dense to see that America was hurting inside. England had always considered himself quicker with America than most others—though, of course, France would disagree. But that frog-sucker disagreed with anything England said, so he wasn't bothered.

Anyway, keeping America company instead of letting him mope around his place like an over-emotional teenager—England remembered _that_ all too well—was good for everyone. A happy America was an America not threatening anyone with nuclear attack… again. For years England had been confused by what had set Russia and America at each other's throats out of the blue like that, but now he thought he was beginning to understand… The last thing he needed was for America to suddenly call Japan out on the whole Pearl Harbor thing again. He had done a bloody bad enough job with that once already.

Twice, actually.

So England was not only doing his duty as a friend, he was doing his duty as a world power and diplomat. Though distracting melancholy former colonies from their break-ups with former enemy nations was, albeit, not normally in the job description.

Well, at least not worded quite the same.

"Indeed, why not?" England responded happily, forcing his mind back to America's earlier comment. They could, indeed… rock brunch. If England ever repeated America's energetic comment, he would simply re-word it so it sounded smarter. But he would certainly remember to end his statement with something that more or less meant, _Suck it, France._

"Oh, hey!" America jumped in his seat like he had been nipped on the bum. "I totally remembered I had something to ask you."

"Oh?" England asked politely, raising his tea cup to his lips.

"Do you like opera?"

England spluttered into his drink. America hurried around the table to slap him—unhelpfully—hard on the back. England managed to wave him back to his seat before the larger country slapped his food right out of him.

"What sort of question is that?" England asked, wiping at his mouth with the cloth napkin from his lap. "Of course I like the _opera_."

America snorted and slapped his palm to his forehead.

"Oh, doi! Of course you do. Who doesn't? Anyway, did'ja wanna see one?"

England was very happy he had decided not to take another sip or bite of his meal while America continued to speak since he would have only repeated his earlier blunder. He did, however, stare at America over his napkin with a look of shock.

"E—excuse me?"

"Well, I was gonna go see this opera with Japan, right? But, you know…" he inserted a sad face for a moment, then perked up again as he continued, "So now I've got no one to go with. But then I was all like 'well, who do you know who likes opera?' and I was like, 'My bro, Britain! He'd totally be down with going to see…' whatever we were going to go see." America paused, frowned, and fished into the breast pocket of his shirt. He pulled out a ticket, squinted at it, and read out loud, "_Don Giovanni_…"

England blinked in surprise. Seriously? That sounded more like something America would invite France to go see… if the younger country lacked taste entirely, that was. Which England had suspected right up until now.

America looked up at England, who was still holding his napkin to his mouth in his shock. The blond-haired nation seemed oblivious to it, in any case. He just blithered on like everything was normal.

"Anyway, you want to? Otherwise I guess I could just give these tickets to someone else… Think France would want them?"

Oh, _hell_ if France was going to get anything England had been offered first. Especially from America.

Not that he would be jealous. France just didn't deserve it on account of his being a total ass.

England lowered his napkin and smoothed it across his lap.

"America, I would love to go to the opera with you." He said, forcing a smile across his face. He was just doing this to poke France in the eye, after all. But, he supposed, he could enjoy it, too.

"Sweet!" America grinned so broadly it made England's face hurt. "Watch out, _Don Giovanni_. Britain and America are gonna do Opera, bro-style!"

England tried to ignore the faint flutter of excitement this statement caused in his stomach.

Maybe it was apprehension.

Or the waffle.

oOo

"You owe me. Big time." Prussia growled into the phone. America laughed on the other side and Prussia forced himself to frown. It was damned difficult to be mad at the kid when he laughed like that. Stupid America.

"_Bro, I_ totally _owe you for letting me have your tickets to the opera. I mean… where the fuck was I gonna get opera tickets for_ tomorrow_? How many of_ those _do you think I've got lying around?_"

"About as many as I do now." Prussia pointed out, sulkily. He smoothed his tie down his chest. Suited up or no, he was still down a date-plan.

"_Look, dude, I owe you. Said it yourself. Since you're helping me out, I'm on your side. If you keep helping me wine and dine Britain, I'll totally help you out with France."_

"How?" Prussia couldn't resist asking. Not that he needed any help… but he did enjoy calling in favors.

"_I can get you some _serious_ invites. Places that'll make France glump you just for walking him _by_ the place."_

"I like the way you think, America." Prussia grinned. "It's a deal, then. You get me points with Francey-pants and I'll help you mind-ninja Shorty."

"_I am so fucking _psyched_ I called you up as my wingman, brah."_

Prussia could tell. He could practically _hear_ America vibrating with excitement on the other end of the phone line.

"I know the bro-code. And you, America, are my bro."

"_Phone-bump!"_ America cried into the phone and Prussia fist-bumped the air—he assumed America was doing the same. There was enough over-zealous rustling and gleeful "_whooshing_" on the other end to make Prussia think America was doing a running-leap fist-bump, sound effects included. The kid was nothing if not enthusiastic.

Prussia heard movement in the suite's bathroom. Prussia hadn't really asked if he could crash with France and Britain, he had basically just showed up. France certainly didn't seem to care, especially since it was clear it was pissing off Britain. And it certainly wasn't stopping him from going about his routine, which seemed to include two-hour long showers.

"Oh, France is getting out of the shower." Prussia lowered his voice to a conspiring whisper. "Let me know how the meeting goes."

"_Seriously?"_ America sounded incredulous.

"No. Good luck on your date tomorrow, bro." Prussia hissed into the phone.

"_Thanks! And ditto, yo!"_

The line went dead and Prussia clicked his cell closed.

Oh, he was _so_ happy he had decided to crash this meeting.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Author's Note:

Any lines that look like they are from How I Met Your Mother or, more specifically, like they are from season two's "World's Greatest Couple", they probably are. I do not own that show or any of the awesome lines. Or Hetalia.

And American pizza is the bomb. And brunch. If you haven't, you need to try both.

Also, derisory means "laughable". It has nothing to do with dysentery...


End file.
